A Fire That Burns From the Inside Out
by Aronoded
Summary: Draco/ Ron. - Slashy thoughts - A bad thumping from Ron Weasley makes Draco respectful and think timid slashy thoughts before bed.


Note: Mild slashy curious thoughts. You know, the kind one would never admit to having after the sun rises.  
  
Dedicated to Andre and Leo for the idea and inspiration. I love my muses.  
  
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A Fire That Burns (From the Inside Out)  
  
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He'd gone too far this time, he supposed. Said too much. Gave the wrong sort of look at the wrong sort of time. Ron Weasley had snapped then and there. Draco Malfoy could remember exactly when it'd happened. He could see how it changed when it snapped. The look in his eyes, pure fire, the color of his hair.  
  
  
  
Ron had knocked him right down on his arse then, those freckled fists making contact with the pale silken skin of Draco's sharp jaw, the side of his elegant neck, the soft tender area of his temple  
  
Draco understood the muggle term, "seeing stars". There'd been a great blast of them right behind his eyes, could almost hear the explosion in his ears. And as mad as he was, as humiliated as he was, he found himself loving each pounding minute of it. Loved it so much it all became one fierce force. The pounding of fists, of pulses, of hearts. Beating together, and then against one another, and back again as if trapped in some testosterone driven mad waltz. A stampede of love and hate and life and death.  
  
Yes, death. Because then Ron was killing him, in the most literal of terms. He'd wrapped those surprisingly strong hands around his neck, and he'd wrenched Draco breathless, right there in front of the entire hall.  
  
He would never forget the look on Ron's face then. So hateful. So determined. So seemingly at peace with the thought that: Yes. he'd defeated Malfoy this time. He'd showed him he couldn't be expected to stand back and take it. he was going to kill Draco, and that's all there was to it. 'Sorry for doing it in front of you all when you're trying to eat. I'll dump his body when I'm done, I promise'.  
  
For a moment, Draco'd been certain that the last thing he'd see would be the deep blue of Ron's eyes, the galaxy of dainty freckles across the bridge of his rather pleasant nose and along the tops of his cheeks. The knitted sincerity of his copper brow. He'd heard everything as if in a tunnel of wind, voices muddled and faint, barely recognizable behind the roar in his ears. he heard Ron's name several times it seemed, his own name then, the breaking of glass. The squeal of a bench against the floor. The scrambling of footsteps. The light was dim then...dimmer still, and yet there were those blue eyes. Those great blue eyes saying to him without words, 'I've had you now. You're nothing to me.' His chest felt as though it would burst.  
  
And then everything changed. The lights were on, there were faces, horrified faces all around. The volume was back and seemed so loud to him now. Harry's face. Ginny Weasley's face. The lumbering strides of Crabbe and Goyle. The pounding of their fists against Ron's body.  
  
No. He wanted to say. No. Stop, but, all he could do at first was gasp for air. He'd rolled onto his side, a hand against his throat, the other pressed flat to the floor. He could remember how cool the floor felt, just before he was pulled up to stand. It'd been Marcus. He could remember now, though he didn't think he'd even noticed then.  
  
He'd shrugged Marcus off, was standing on his own, the blurriness of his vision was only around the edges; was tapering away.  
  
"Stop it!" He'd gasped, stumbling forward, ungraceful. He didn't care. "Stop you oafs, you're going to kill him!" His arms were out stretched, his eyes wide, vision froze on the blood on Ron's face. On the floor. On their fists. He was shoving on, Crabbe into Goyle. They were stumbling back. They were confused. Draco hated them.  
  
And there it was still. The anger on Ron's face. The Quaint look of satisfaction still there behind it that he'd finally, quite literally, beat Draco's arse. It was classic. Completely classic. And it was something Draco would never forget. Nor was what Ron said to what happened next.  
  
Draco stood over him, looking down at him, his eyes shining with something new. Something entirely new. Respect. He'd offered Ron a hand and Ron had stood of his own accord, blood dribbling over his chin and staining the wool of his vest.  
  
Don't you ever offer me a hand Malfoy." He'd spat angrily, staring him down with that fiery gaze until he'd turned and stalked off, followed by Harry and Hermione. They both seemed sobered and quiet and didn't glance back at Draco, even as Ron had before exiting the hall.  
  
He could remember being descended upon then, by students, professors, even Nearly Headless Nick had come for a look. But, it was all so insignificant, because the flame had left the room, and left him cold.  
  
***  
  
It was nearly midnight and fairly quiet in the Slytherin Dormitory, Crabbe and Goyles muffled snores and the light howl of winter wind were the only sounds penetrating the confines of Draco's sheltered bed.  
  
He lay there on his back, ivory head against ivory pillows, tilted slightly to the side as he stared off at nothing. His face was set with the features of someone deep in thought, lips together, pursed in just the slightest way. In his left hand, he held his wand, handle end gently against his sheets, pointing end facing upward, emitting the softest glow, giving the impression of dewey moonlight. His right hand lay against his bare chest, fingers absently tracing their way over the length of a long faint scar, pale as the quality of his alabaster flesh.  
  
He could barely feel his heart beat, thumping ever so gently under his sensitive finger tips and they paused their progress for just a moment. Had he ever noticed this before? This proof that he were human? Or had he always completely disregarded it, like he had everything else? He couldn't recall, and he felt a little sad over it.  
  
Slowly his head turned and he looked to the light on the end of his wand. Funny how something so simple suddenly seemed extraordinary to him. Everything did really. His heart beat, the light, the color of Ron Weasley's eyes. The way his freckles dotted all over his skin while Draco's stayed clear as glass.  
  
Absently, he wondered what Ron's skin would feel like against his fingers. Would it be rough? Soft like his mothers? Or would it be incredibly fine and smooth as his own? And if he touched his hair, that incredible mop of red hair, how would it feel? Sleek like the coat of a cat? Fluffy and light as if he were dipping his fingers into down feather? What would it feel like to have Ron touch him? Would his hands be rough? Timid? Would his fingers explore the lines of his form? The shapes and contours of his face?  
  
He closed his eyes then, imagining it, his own fingers tracing down the center of his chest, between his ribs, and over the tender flesh that waited there, just above his navel. They lingered, caressed, then stilled.  
  
In his mind, it was Ron's lips, he could almost feel the tickling strands of his hair against his skin. That fire starting there and spreading throughout him to the very ends of his fingers and toes.  
  
And then Goyle let out a great snort from the next bed over, the sounds of his bed straining from his weight as he changed position, the fluttering sound of sheets being adjusted.  
  
Draco's eyes were open, looking at nothing as he felt the pulse that'd begun with in him start to ebb away, the heat slowly receding behind it. The ghost of Ron's lips seemed to vanish, and all at once, it was over.  
  
Draco felt regretful. he felt resentful. He felt cold all over again. And so with one word, he'd put out the light. With one movement, tucked away his wand and was left alone in the dark with only the feeling of his solitary heart beating against his hand to ease him into slumber.  
  
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